Shooting stars
by Godly Apple Juice
Summary: In a mix of war, Romano has a moment of wishing to be somewhere else.


Shooting star

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia, or its characters.

**A/N:** I felt like writing something, so I decided to write about the first thought that came to mind: Shooting stars. At first, I wondered how the fuck am I going to write about _that._ Then I realized that at times, people make wishes on stars, so why not Romano? Obviously, little Veneziano makes wishes on stars (Poor England though xDDD), so I guess Romano does too.

Also, there are times in most people's lives where they don't want to be in a current situation, and want to be somewhere else.

Enjoy.

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Romano was looking up at the sky, the air smelling dusty and sweet. Earthy smells, mingled among the sweet wine that had spilled over the dusty ground. He was currently sitting in a ruined café, looking up at the sky where the roof had been. A wine glass was in hand, and he absently took sips of it occasionally.

War had been getting pretty heavy, and Romano was already not looking forward to the future. As much as he tried to resist, he kept on getting dragged into these stupid battles, and now currently, the city he was staying in was bombed. Things were settling down, people trying to organize themselves. Romano just wanted to be left alone, to think.

The problem was, he had nothing to think about. He was in a war. That's all he could think about, and that wasn't something he wanted to think about. Romano's mind had shifted to try and look forward to the future, but what future did he have? All he could see was the long stretch of war in front of him. With a sigh, Romano eye's flickered to the sky once again.

Seeing a streak across the sky, a shooting star disappeared into the night. A twitch of a smile curved on Romano's lips, remembering the first time he saw a shooting star. He freaked out a bit, thinking that the world was going to end. Spain just sat there, laughing. Pulling Romano onto his lap, he explained the shooting stars.

Romano remembered asking. "Where do they come from?" Spain had to pause there for a second, a thoughtful look coming over his face. At last, Spain laughed, tilting his head up to look at the sky.

"I honestly don't know, Roma," Spain grinned. "But I like to think that a shooting star is someone wishing to go where they want to go."At the time, Romano only scowled, and told Spain that was the stupidest answer he had ever heard in his life,

Now, in a bombed city, Romano understood perfectly. He didn't want to be in an ill-fated war with his little brother awing over that stupid bastard, Germany. Ever since the war started, Romano had a gnawing pit in his stomach, a sort of discomfort where he knew that some of his people opposed the war as much as he himself did.

No, stop. He didn't want to think about how much the war caused him discomfort.

He wanted to think about the soft nights in Spain's house, the sweet low songs that Spain sang to drift him off to sleep. Waking up in sunshine that was bright and warm, welcoming him to another day as he could attempt to be useful, then giving up. Spain would only roll his eyes, and finish _helping_ Romano with his chores, basically saying that he was doing most of them by himself, with Romano trailing behind, muttering.

At least there, there was no war. Pushing the wine glass away, Romano sighed. A voice spoke. "Sir? We need to get you out of here; we are ready to move out." An Italian soldier informed Romano, his choice of words not fitting his tone of voice. He sounded weary, scared, and almost uncertain. Romano glanced up, and nodded.

"…Go on ahead, I'll catch up. No worries." Romano replied, looking back up at the sky. His moment of peace was now over. As if waking up in a haze of memories that he usually shoved in the back of his mind, he suddenly remembered that he was in a destroyed Café, the cement and wood all shattered by the Allies bombs.

Smoke was now starting to streak the sky an ashy red, the stars being covered with war. Romano stood up, and started after the soldier, who was waiting patiently for him at an opening in the ruins. Sending one last glance upward, Romano made a silent plead.

_I don't want to be here, I don't want to be here, I want to be with Spain. _

Seeing the sky covered with an ashy red streaked with grey, Romano somehow felt as though he could almost see a faint light of a shooting star disappear. He hoped Spain would get to see it, as he walked the torn streets of his destroyed city.

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_Review, favorite, or whatever you do on stories that you read._

-BMTM


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